


Without You

by HalfBakedPoet



Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [13]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Drama & Romance, F/F, Fluff and Angst, I'm Sorry, Lost and Found, Missing Persons, Whump, buckle up for hurtsville beep beep, thasmin, yaz!whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfBakedPoet/pseuds/HalfBakedPoet
Summary: "We can't have a universe with no Yaz!"But the universe sews itself back together where she should have been, until the Doctor picks at the threads and things start unraveling.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/River Song, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668127
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

How long ago had she said it? The Doctor distinctly remembered giving the warning some time ago in the Partition, just before Umbreen’s wedding: _“We can’t have a universe with no Yaz!”_ And yet somehow, the universe had no Yaz. She was sure, in absolute terms, no second guesses or prattling or waffling, that the universe _had_ a Yasmin Khan not five minutes ago. But here was Ryan, telling her, in absolute terms, that Yasmin Khan did not exist.

“That’s rubbish, Ryan, you know Yaz! Yasmin Khan! PC Khan? Awesome human. Grew up with you in Sheffield, you went to the same school and everything.” She could feel her forehead wrinkling with worry, as Ryan’s face remained smooth and bemused.

“Never heard of her. You alright, Doctor? You’re looking kinda pale.”

“Course I’m _not_ alright, Ryan. I was about to show her the most brilliant feather I picked up from a Benorian canary, but I’d turned ‘round and she was gone. Look, here it is,” she said, and waved the iridescent wisp under Ryan’s nose.

“You sure you weren’t gonna show Graham? Didn’t realize he was into birds,” said Ryan. His shoulders pulled upward as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“What’s this about birds?” asked Graham. He had just pulled a sandwich from his jacket pocket as he approached from a nearby stream within sight of the TARDIS.

“Graham, where’s Yaz? Ryan seems to have lost his memory because he’s saying he doesn’t know her—”

“Yaz?” One of Graham’s eyebrows furrowed as he chewed. “Is that some alien species you went on about last Tuesday?”

“Not you, too,” groaned the Doctor. “Come on, let’s get you back in the TARDIS. Seems like the local flora here affects human memories. Sorry about that, genuinely didn't know,” she said, shepherding them back toward the blue box, to quell the stir of panic rising in her stomach. “We’ll come back out to look for her in a moment, she can’t have gone far. Shan’t be going anywhere without her.”

“Doctor, we’re saying we never met this Yaz person,” said Ryan. “I’d remember traveling with someone, ‘specially if she grew up with me.” He pressed his weight backward against the Doctor’s hand as she pushed them along, bent forward with the effort.

“You’re having a laugh, I’d know if I’d met a Yaz,” said Graham, also resisting. “’Specially if she’s from Sheffield, I knew most regulars on all the routes by name.”

Cursing this new body’s reduction in arm strength, the Doctor let them go, and both Ryan and Graham turned to face her, a bit annoyed at being herded toward the TARDIS like livestock. “Maybe you need a lie down, Doc,” Graham added, nodding in a fatherly way. “You’re getting all worked up over summat’s not real, it seems.”

“Yeah, we haven’t touched any weird plants,” said Ryan. He crossed his arms. “My memory’s fine. Maybe it’s yours.”

With an exasperated sigh, the Doctor scanned them both, the sonic awhir as it read their vitals and neurological functions. “Question my knowledge about Yaz,” she muttered, giving them both a complacent eyebrow lift before holding the screwdriver up to her eyes. Her eyebrows immediately fell lower than homeostasis. “That can’t be right…” She scanned herself, though the reading was the same, as though they had all passed a physical exam with flying colors: no gaps in memory, brain cells still aligned and synapses intact, no malfunctions of second livers, dyspraxia still in place in Ryan, and thankfully no cancer resurgence in Graham. Still pushing away the threatening panic, the Doctor did her best to laugh. “All right, very funny. You got me. Joke’s over, you’ve had your fun. Come on, Yaz, I know you’re around here somewhere!”

Ryan and Graham exchanged a glance. “Doc,” said Graham softly, “we’re saying we’ve never heard of this Yaz person. Wouldn’t try to trick you like this, you seem really out of sorts, but we just... don’t know her.”

In the spaces around her eyes, the Doctor felt as though someone had pressed the heel of their palm, or else had just punched her without the pain. It was like she was a child and Graham had just scolded her, and the only thing her brain knew to do was think about crying, even if her eyes petulantly resisted, no tears forming. Just to be sure, she held the sonic screwdriver above her head, her final beacon of hope on the spinning Stenza crystal, the little blip that told her the scan was complete. Both hearts sank, icing her blood at the reading: only two humans on Benore, and they were right beside her.

The canary feather fluttered to the ground, forgotten, as she wrenched past them into the TARDIS.

“Should we help her?” asked Graham, standing next to Ryan against the control room wall.

“If I knew how, I’d offer, but…” said Ryan with a shrug. “Suppose she’ll wear herself out soon enough.” It had been nearly four hours: the Doctor dashing around the TARDIS interior, vanishing into the ever-wending halls and back into the control room to fiddle with a button or dial, then back into the deeper sections of the ship, all with the pounding of frantic boots and the trill of the sonic, which she followed with increasingly desperate groans and whines, like a disturbed hound.

“What’re you just standing there for?” She paused to pant, propped against the console with shaking arms, bent double. A bead of sweat splattered the panel.

“How should we help?” asked Graham, the corners of his mouth pulling. “We’d have done earlier, but we have no idea what you’re after.”

The Doctor glared at them both, the worry crease between her eyebrows narrowing as it deepened. Her mouth hung open before she refilled it with speech. “Can’t you feel it? Her energy signature’s all around the TARDIS, but she’s gone! Wiped from the databases, erased from the memory banks. And the bathroom preference settings! You remember she likes her showers extra hot?” She waited impatiently while Ryan and Graham’s gazes angled away from her. “No? All right, what about her tea? Sometimes as is or just milk, especially with a biscuit to balance the sugar?” Graham gave the subtlest headshake. “She’s only had us up to her family flat a thousand times for it, boys! We helped her nan Umbreen get married during the Partition?”

“Yeah, we helped Umbreen and Prem, but I thought that just was another thing the TARDIS wanted us to fix,” said Ryan. “Wasn’t a Yaz with us for it.”

Unimpressed, the Doctor turned to the console. “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Even the TARDIS hesitated. Her response was a low hum, too gentle for the Doctor’s frayed nerves. _Doctor… I don’t._

“That’s not possible. People don’t just _disappear_ like this, no questions asked, least of all from Team TARDIS.” An impatient finger tapped a console panel.

“But…” said Ryan, “It seems like they have.”

“That’s just it, Ryan! I can’t figure out what’s happened to her, and any traces of her are melting out of existence. Look,” she said, flourishing the sonic again. “The Artron energy signature that mingled with her conscious brain waves and biologic indicators, A.K.A., the things that make up Yaz, were everywhere an hour ago.”

“What are you on about?” asked Graham, his upper lip pulled back in confusion. The Doctor ignored this and carried on.

“Readings for those were still pretty high. Like she’d _been_ here, only now she’s a shadow of herself or lost, and…” Her eyes drifted down to the screwdriver, that horrible panicked thrill between curiosity and high alert crawling around in her stomach with too many legs. “The levels are dropping by the minute.” She turned to Ryan and Graham. “If whatever’s on this planet has tried to erase Yaz from existence, you’re not safe here.” Immediately, she darted around the console, setting coordinates for Sheffield in the clack and clatter of buttons and switches. “Didn’t do good enough if I remember her, though,” she muttered. “Hang onto something, boys. Bit of a rush job.” She reached for the lever. “Ah. And not a word to Najia. Or anyone in the Khan family. Can’t have them knowing I’ve lost Yaz, they’d string me up.” Down went the lever, the TARDIS wheezing to life. “Oh! And I’ve thought of how you can help. Tell me what you remember.”

“What?” Ryan had wrapped his arms around the nearest crystal pillar.

“The things we’ve done with Yaz! You remember the spiders and the hotel?”

“Yeah, they liked Ryan’s noise and we trapped ‘em in the panic room. Horrid American bloke…”

“And Najia was there with us?”

“She’d just been given the sack.”

“Sounds like the Khan family’s still otherwise intact,” said the Doctor, and she tapped the sonic against her lips. “How’d we get to the hotel?”

“That researcher Jade showed us her stuff after we found that spider in the flat,” said Ryan. “You marked up that map and we found the hotel from there.”

“But no Yaz?”

They met her with blank stares and flat mouths, and the TARDIS thudded.

“Has she... gone a bit… loony?” asked Graham, once they’d arrived in his home and the Doctor had corralled them into the sitting room. She’d shut the door without another word, and the TARDIS dematerialized before they could ask what she was doing or where she was going. “Najia only has the one daughter, and I’m sure her name wasn’t Yaz.” He shuddered. “We’re not going back to that block anytime soon, I hope? Still get the willies thinking about those spiders.”

“That’s just her, innit?” said Ryan, with a touch of admiration. “The Doctor’s always been a bit mental.”

“Back to Benore, five seconds after we left,” said the Doctor. She tapped the sonic against her thigh impatiently. “Should be enough of a gap to avoid a feedback loop…”

The TARDIS burbled. _Doctor, are you sure…?_

“Course I’m sure! Always sure about Yaz. Can’t have misplaced her, it’s like the universe just swallowed her up and stitched the gaps closed where there would have been a Yaz-sized hole.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “At least the Khans still exist. Which means the _potential_ for Yaz is still in the past, but she's just... gone. Can’t have that.” The TARDIS thudded to a halt. “Just give me that reading again, something to lock onto and I’ll be off…” The sonic trilled, a trace of Yaz’s energy signature shadowing the reading, much fainter than it had been before they left. “Right. No time to lose. Hold on, Yaz.”

Leading with the whir of the sonic, she stepped out of the TARDIS into the meadow where she and the fam had stopped earlier for lunch. In the sudden bright light of the outside, she squinted. Why was it that alien planets often had more than one sun in the sky? She _could_ answer that; it had a lot to do with proximity to stars and orbits, and a little to do with newly forming planets liking a bit of aesthetic drama brought by multiple suns, but the Doctor found herself irritated at the sight of the orange pair in the Benorian sky. Double sun planets and some of them with their figure eight orbits, thinking they’re special—

She stopped herself. _Disgruntled_ was a new feeling, if that was the name for it. She didn’t like it, the discontented sourness in her guts, the way she had just dismissed an entire subset of planets because… because… Her sonic arm dropped, as her boots stopped moving toward the stream.

“What’re you so hacked off for? Not the planet’s fault for having two suns! And it’s not like we won’t find her! We’ve saved our friends from worse, haven’t we?” The Doctor scowled as she chided herself. “No need to lash out in your head about things outside your control, yeah?” With a flip-flopping feeling in her stomach, she noticed the lack of answers, the absence of affirmations, and she started to question if she should’ve kept Graham and Ryan along. “Nah, but they’re safer at home. If whatever it is has Yaz is erasing her from the universe, better the rest of the fam sit this one out. Can’t have a universe with no fam at all!”

Again her boots started moving, and the sonic ignited as it buzzed along. The grass crunched and hushed underfoot, and she followed the arcing path of the stream as it burbled beside her. Every few minutes, she’d stop to read the sonic’s output, as though it would tell her something different than the same ecosystem readings and atmospheric measurements she’d been seeing for the past hour. And the first sun was starting to touch the horizon by the time she met the source of the stream, an elevated, glassy lake that splashed into a waterfall and led back toward the TARDIS with that water ribbon she’d been tramping beside. No sign of Yaz at all, and the signature she’d saved in the sonic was growing stale, vanishing from the memory like smoke through grasping fingers.

The Doctor fell to her knees on the lake’s rocky shore, knocking them hard against the stone. “What am I missing?” she shouted, her hands curling into her hair. “What’ve you done with Yaz?” Benore didn’t say anything, and the chirping of the canaries answered her, the soft erosion of the water as it patiently carved a place for itself into the planet’s surface. She glared at the stream and considered superheating a section of it to evaporating. She was starting to think the canary voices were driving her mad, madder than she had been before Yaz disappeared, anyway. The canaries mocked her, chirping and chittering about something she’d forgotten… what _had_ she forgotten? If she could claw her brain without permanently damaging it, she would have, the reminder of _having_ forgotten in the first place tickling one side of her head and dodging her grabs for it. She gripped the sonic tighter, watching the energy signature flicker and waver in the inner workings, a little heartbeat of light in her fist. _Yaz’s_ energy signature, a shadow of an imprint of an echo, barely a whisper now. What _had_ this planet done to her? Why would it take her? And unassuming, as she always was, Yaz had been overjoyed to see another alien planet, the same, familiar wonder sliding across her face like dawn after a clear night. The Doctor’s head snapped up, the memory of Yaz’s smile enough to refocus her.

“Deep breath, Doctor,” she reminded herself, nose wrinkling as she squinted for the umphundredth time at the sonic. And in the whorl of oxygen, the release of carbon dioxide, the frustration didn’t matter, just the determination that replaced it.

“Benore,” she murmured. What was it about Benore? Their visit to the planet had been more of a rest day; just a scenic visit for a short getaway before the TARDIS could warn them of another catastrophe in need of a doctor. For some reason, she could think of hundreds of words that rhymed with it, and winced at the unpleasant memory of bumping into Edgar Allan Poe in a gutter. _Sorrow for the lost Lenore…_ The Doctor shook her head, gritting her teeth. Yaz may have been lost, but she wasn’t _gone_ , not yet. Not if she could help it.

Against the over-bright sunlight at sunset, her eyes strayed along the ground, over the pebbles and weathered rocks as she tried to conjure any facts she knew about Benore, before she’d brought the fam. The peaceful outer world, the surface a haven for picnickers, campers, and hikers. Its main attraction were the canaries, who had excellent singing voices, and whose feathers changed color with their moods. Detached from a bird, the feather took on psychic-paper-like properties, reflecting the viewer’s favorite color most often, or else whatever color matched what the person was feeling. The peaceful meadows and lakes and streams and the one odd forest were home to luminous, spotted, sextipedal deer-like creatures, whose feet were an odd three-toed shape, making eighteen total per deer. Docile things, didn’t mind a scratch or being fed a carrot. And their toes technically were individual hooves, so eighteen toe-hooves per deer. All Benorian flora flourished brighter than anything Earth could have mustered with just one sun: the forest was practically aglow in the daytime with the most vibrant flowers. And yet the planet was all but abandoned by its humanoid species, who had lived underground centuries ago, all the tunnels and homes and carvings left empty. Why they had lived underground escaped her; maybe they were highly allergic to deer dander or luminescent pollen. It was kind of amazing to think about sitting on top of curated caverns, all empty. River would have loved to dig them up. And it struck her.

The Doctor leapt to her feet, for the first time pointing the sonic at the dirt beneath her, the sensors drilling deep beneath the surface. Yes, there were the caverns and the remains and ruins, but what had caused the evacuation so long ago? She broke into a run, back toward the TARDIS, sonic shrilling with her as she scanned her path along the ground, the amber glow brighter in the growing dark. She could see the white of the TARDIS windows in the distance, and she skidded to a halt, her hearts giving a great bound as the sonic blipped anew: the energy signature, the one that had evaded her as she scanned everything at shoulder height and above, _Yaz’s_ energy signature, flickered warmer and brighter on the sonic, deep beneath her. And something else mingled with that output, something older and, no, that couldn’t be right. A void shouldn’t have registered with Yaz on the scan. A void shouldn’t have registered at all. A void was empty, a void was _nothing,_ just a massive hole in the data. By nature, the terrestrial parts of the universe abhorred vacuums like this one, seeking to fill them with water or sand or plants. Couldn't say the same of black holes, or space; space was _mostly_ a vacuum, with planets and chunks of asteroid dotted in here and there. A void had no place on Benore. Unless. She squinted harder at the sonic. Unless a void was cloaking something else, something that shouldn’t have been there, either.

The Doctor dashed toward the TARDIS with a fresh burst of speed, as though she could outrun her newest wave of panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh,
> 
> I had a horrible thought about Yaz's companion ending being that she gets erased from the universe--thus fulfilling a universe with no Yaz, aka everyone's worst nightmare--and my hands slipped and then my mind slipped. I hope you have fun on this ride, please put aside your pitchforks and torches, I do have a happy ending in mind. More chapters inbound as I figure this out. 
> 
> Also, I changed the name of the series because it was just easier to put all my Who works in one place in general. This proved to be more of a project than a one shot, but I wanted it within my continuity.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Jo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: captivity and creepy captor
> 
> Take it away, Yaz...

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Oh, I don’t need that kind of affirmation. They all are in the end. You’re no different.”

“Real sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Spend as long as I have in this job, you would be, too.”

“Sounds boring."

"Hardly."

"...Where are we?”

“Don’t sweat the details, love.”

“I’ll sweat the details, never you mind. Just me. And you won’t hold me forever.”

“Ah, because your _Doctor_ is coming to save you? Yes, I know about her. I know everything about you, Yasmin Khan. Everything since you stumbled down my wormhole.”

“Then you know what’s coming for you if you don’t let me go.”

“Oh, she’s got spunk. I quite like that. All the more delicious when someone leaves a lasting impression on so many. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. Your Doctor’s already forgotten you by now. However, since I am a gracious host…”

Yaz cracked her eyes open, senses slow to awaken. Her irises struggled to dilate enough in the dark to see even outlines and shadows, all the rest too black. But she could smell the damp of a cave; hear the flood of an underground river somewhere deeper as it echoed off the walls. And as she thought about pressing her palm to her forehead to stop the throbbing, she found she couldn’t move, her whole body bound from the shoulders down, tucked against a chink in the wall. Broken parts of her screamed as she strained, her wrist, an ankle, probably a rib or two, and she stopped short. Breathing hurt; Yaz did her best not to hiss on the inhale. A sticky spot on her cheek stretched as she winced, her right eye sealed in one corner, a dried cut cracking on her temple.

How did she fall? How long had it been? She still felt dazed, lightheaded, as the darkness seemed to swallow her, the vast nothingness sucking her in. And her mouth was too dry, sticky as she parted her lips to breathe. What she wouldn’t give for a drink, the most tantalizing sound of that river reaching to cup her jaw in the dark. Lunch must have been hours ago, and Yaz didn’t want to think about food with the way her stomach turned. But perhaps more irresistible than the flush of distant water, a small comfort, she thought of the Doctor, who surely must have noticed she was missing by now.

The Doctor had practically been fizzing to show them Benore, chattering about the bioluminescent deer and the canaries, describing it as an outdoorsman’s paradise as she threw bags of crisps and sandwiches into a basket for lunch. On went the sunglasses, and she grabbed Yaz by the hand, who seized Graham’s sleeve, who caught Ryan’s elbow, and they filed out the creaky TARDIS door into the sunlight.

Sprawled on a blue-checked blanket, Yaz watched the Doctor sketch a flower that looked very much like a purple Earth lily with a frilly collar. The fragment of paper fished from her pockets was a little crumpled, and soon the Doctor’s fingertips were smudged black with charcoal as she blended. And then there was a black smear on her cheek. And another on her forehead.

“C’mere,” chuckled Yaz, smiling as she scooted closer with a paper napkin she’d dabbed with water from a metal canister printed with stars. The Doctor remained focused on the task at hand, but allowed Yaz to clean her face, though she winced at first touch. Unless she initiated or invited it, or if she could see it coming with enough warning, the Doctor always flinched a little when someone touched her. Yaz was learning not to take that personally, but still, the Doctor allowing her these small moments of care was progress. Often, there were times when she’d poke her head out from under the TARDIS console and Yaz would look up from her book to find the Doctor breathless and sweaty, her face and hands smeared with grease or some other engine fluid, and Yaz would grab a towel for her. Not that the Doctor cared much about cleanliness when there was a job needed doing, but she at least tolerated Yaz’s attentions.

“Thanks, Yaz,” she said idly, scratching another firm line into the lily’s stem. She paused to shoot her a sideways smile before she continued. “Benorian flowers are best left untouched. Always a toss up if one secretes a fine toxin that turns your tongue green. Won’t have that happen again, if I can help it.” She turned the drawing so Yaz could see it better. “What d’you think?”

In truth, Yaz probably had seen better, but it was a decent sketch; the Doctor had gotten the curve of the leaf and shading of the petals just right, if not the exact shapes. “It’s a good likeness,” she said truthfully, leaning in for a closer look. “Didn’t know you could draw.”

“Just a bit here and there,” said the Doctor. “You pick up some things over the centuries, if not all of them the best. Can’t be the best at everything, though I _am_ brilliant at a lot.” She slipped the paper into Yaz’s hand with a smile. “That’s for you.” Yaz forgot to breathe, the sliver of touch between their fingers left warm and spreading across her hand in the Doctor’s wake, like ripples on a pond.

Yaz remembered her manners. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

The Doctor tucked the bit of charcoal stick back into her pocket and stood, stretching her arms above her. “Best see what the boys've got up to, I think Graham wanted a look at that stream. You coming?”

“In a minute,” said Yaz. “Should probably find someplace safe for this on the TARDIS. Wouldn’t want it to get lost.” She traced just outside the line with a fingertip. And she lifted her eyes in the Doctor’s shadow to find the Doctor beaming down at her, if a little unbelieving.

“Yasmin Khan,” she said with a note of wonder. She shook her head a little. “I’ll bet that’s the kindest thing anyone’s said or done for one of my doodles.” A smudged hand descended, an offer, and Yaz took it, a little dizzy with the too-sudden shift in gravity. Or else it was the way she couldn’t resist smiling back. “Shan’t go far,” said the Doctor, replacing her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. “Catch up with us soon? Don’t want to miss the birds, they’ve the loveliest voices.”

“I’m not leaving,” laughed Yaz. “The TARDIS is just over there on the hill. Won’t be a minute.”

“Right you are,” said the Doctor. She lowered her shades to peer over the rim, which made Yaz spark with another giggle. The Doctor’s eyes crinkled. “See you soon.” And they set off in opposite directions, though Yaz cast a glance over her shoulder to watch the swirl of blue in the light breeze, the Doctor's hair fanning out with it.

Yaz had just returned her gaze to the scrap of paper in her hand, when her foot tumbled into an empty space; too big to be a mere rabbit hole, and she hit her head as she fell, the window of light above her shrinking fast before she blacked out.

A heavy shuffle echoed around her. “Where’re you?” she rasped, squinting through her headache.

“Around.” The smooth voice reverberated, and her head throbbed anew as each sound wave hit her. She thought she heard the shuffle again, smearing wet silt against the stone, and her nausea squirmed to think of a large worm dragging itself along the cavern walls. “Oh, but I do forget my manners. And that some species can’t see without a light.” Yaz felt a chilly puff of air brush against her cheek. Something was definitely moving in their shared space, something big and nearby.

 _“What’re_ you?” She trembled in her bonds, and hated that her voice shook as well. The Doctor wouldn’t sound so scared, she’d snark her way through and still manage to find room for empathy, until that wore thin, depending on the adversary. Yaz bit the edge of her tongue, mustering her courage as she remembered the Skithra, the Doctor edging in front of her. She was always doing that, making herself a living shield. There was another rough sound of movement, of clattering rocks displaced, and Yaz shrank against the wall as much as she could.

“And I thought _my_ manners were lacking. Tut tut. Do remember you’re a guest here, won’t you?” There was a sickening clacking sound. Spindle legs moving, a carapace? Like the skitter of a crab, but bigger. Yaz struggled to envision what she couldn’t see. “It’s easier if I show you.” Something that felt like a human thumb stroked her cheek, and Yaz couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, dear, we’ve only just arrived.”

“Hard to sleep when you’re in my head.”

“Ah, there’s that spirit. And so clever. Most of my guests don’t realize where they are until I tell them.”

“And who _are_ you? You just gonna gloat and play games?”

“Look at me all you like, Yasmin Khan.”

There was a finger snap, and it was as though they’d been transported to her family’s flat, a perfect apparition in the confines of her own mind. Strange as it was to be placed in her home like this, at least the pain had been masked in the illusion. She wasn’t sure if the sight of her flat was comforting or threatening: the detail of its appearance, her father’s apron hanging on the stove handle with the dust of rice flour speckling it as it had just before she left, the flowered print and precise tea stains on the towels draped over the cabinet doors by the sink, all so exact, though she hadn’t told whoever it was who'd created the illusion any of this.

At the kitchen table, tea and biscuits set before them, a man sat across from her. Her eyebrows furrowed. There was no way that the thing in reality outside, the thing that made such heavy noises, was so humanoid: lithe body, pale, spindly fingers, even his lanky legs and slicked hair, packaged neatly in a suit as he reclined so the chair leaned back on two legs with him. But then, he appeared to have four yellow eyes that aligned in two diagonal lines from the bridge of his nose, with the slitted pupils of a cat. He smirked at her over the rim of his teacup, the act of taking tea merely a gesture, and when he set the cup down, he smiled with long, pointed teeth.

“You can call me Wyrm,” he said, his voice deep and silky, cloying as he dragged out the 'e' and flicked his tongue over the 'r'. “I hear your friends call you Yaz?”

 _“Only_ my friends,” said Yaz. She fought a lump in her throat, remembering the Doctor insisting on calling her Yaz straightaway. _Cos we’re friends now…_

“But we could be friends, Yaz,” said Wyrm, pretending to examine his black fingernails. “Before I devour you.”

“Friends don’t talk about eating each other and mean it.”

“No, I suppose not.” He bridged his hands and rested his chin on the lattice of his knuckles, elbows on the table as he observed her. “Though, I hope you don’t mind. I went ahead with something of an appetizer earlier.”

“What d’you mean?” Yaz’s stomach flipped again as she tried to remember if she’d noticed any parts of her body were missing. The Doctor had mentioned phantom limbs a while ago as a method for advanced alien prosthetics...

“Nothing physical,” said Wyrm, noting her expression. “Not my style, material food. No, my appetite resides in the things that _make_ a person. The bonds they share with others. I don’t see the harm in telling you since you’re not long for this world anyway.”

“You always play with your food?” Yaz snarled.

“Only if it’s interesting.” All four of Wyrm’s eyes rested on her, each blinking in turn. “And I’d say you’re by far one of the most interesting meals I’ve had. Practically alight with time vortex energy, been so many places and seen so many things, in a number of different times…” A sliver of tongue poked from a corner of his crooked mouth and snaked back in. “I do hope you’ll be comfortable in our shortening time together. It does get a bit tedious for the prey, the process of being erased.”

“E…erased?” Yaz’s mouth felt heavy and slow, the word weighing on the illusion of her tongue. Her thoughts spiraled around not existing, the Doctor and Ryan and Graham forgetting her. Her family carrying on like she had never been born in the first place. In a sudden burst, her lungs deflated and she struggled to breathe, her heart racing as she struggled to catch up with all that Wyrm had slipped into the conversation. _Appetizer_ dripped off the memory of his teeth. “You’ve already started,” she mouthed.

“Mm.” His lips curved. “The entire essence of a person is the most… exquisite thing, don’t you think? And I’ll admit, I am a bit of a collector.” Yaz swallowed as Wyrm rose from his seat, taller than should have been possible. He took two steps before leaning down to Yaz, and he lifted her chin with a fingertip. She tried to avert her gaze, but everywhere her eyes shifted, at least one of Wyrm’s yellow irises met her. “There it is,” he murmured, stroking her lips with his greyish thumb. “That first flicker of fear. Oh, Yaz, I’m going to have _such_ fun unmaking you. Sorry,” he added with another smirk, _“Yasmin._ If you insist we’re not going to be friends.”

“What’ll happen?” She jerked her chin away.

Wyrm assumed his full height, giving his thumb a lick. “Wouldn’t want to spoil it, now would I?” He watched his fingers rub together, as though fascinated by their movement, or else bored with Yaz already.

 _Oh, Doctor, where are you?_ Yaz wondered, imagining her bursting through the door of the flat, sonic brandished forward, coat tails flying behind. More than that drink of water she craved, she’d have allowed herself to dehydrate in a desert if that meant the Doctor would turn up.

“It’s like I said, I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for the Doctor,” said Wyrm, straightening his jacket. He didn’t need to smile this time, but Yaz could see the smirk in his eyes as her mouth dropped open. “And if by some chance she does arrive, she _does_ sound like an even more… entertaining feast. All those lives, all those bonds, all that personhood for the taking.” He relished each word that laced into the false space between them. Yaz could see his forked tongue flit again, pink between all his fangs.

“Get out of my head,” she said firmly, starting to reach for her pain, which was sharpening again into something less abstract, as though she were grasping it through plastic.

A single blink, all four eyes at once. Another maddeningly reptilian smirk. “As you wish.” Another snap, and Yaz was again gasping in the cold dark, torn between wanting the Doctor to find her, and desperately willing her to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the last thing I want is to make Yaz is a damsel in distress. There's a fine line between captivity and passivity. We'll see how this goes.
> 
> I've been struggling with this story, but I liked the concept too much to give it up. I hope the chapter turned out all right. Probably a little too tired to worry right now.
> 
> As always, smash any buttons you like! I love to read your comments; the discussion feeds me. Remember to be kind.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Jo


	3. Chapter 3

“I _told_ you, I’m trying to reach Professor River Song,” said the Doctor loudly into the phone, grinding her knuckles into her forehead. “Matter of some urgency, utmost urgency, if that’ll speed things along. …Who’s calling?” She hesitated. River hadn’t met this face yet, and the thought stirred in her stomach with about four thousand, seven hundred and forty-three questions: Would she like this body? Would she even recognize her? Would she be upset about the ring? How old was River in this call’s timeline? Would River care to help Yaz? The Doctor mentally shooed away the questions like a swarm of gnats, until the most important one remained: how to explain who she was to the teaching assistant on the phone.

“It’s complicated,” she said, then clapped her hand over her eyes. Try again, Doctor. “An old friend.” No, still not right. “A complicated old friend.” Close enough.

“A complicated old friend,” repeated the TA. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“I’m not! I mean, _technically,_ we haven’t met yet, but—”

“You haven’t met, but you’re an old friend?”

“I did say _complicated_ old friend.” The Doctor drummed her fingertips. “Please, can you just get a shift on? Professor Song is my last hope to—”

There was a shuffle and slight yelp of pain on the other end, the clack of something hard against the phone’s receiver. And River’s voice continued the conversation.

“So sorry, I do hope my assistant didn’t give you too much trouble. Finals are ever so stressful, aren’t they?” She must have poked the unfortunate assistant on the other end, for there was a sharp _ouch_.

If the Doctor were honest with herself—and she really did try her best to be honest, except for certain occasions involving deeply personal matters, and also the amount of times she brushed her teeth—she’d have had the conversation with herself in preparation for engaging with River for the first time again. Especially since River wasn’t traipsing in and out of the Doctor’s timeline at this point, giving the Doctor the rare initiation of contact. And in truth, she had been so wrapped up in the scramble to get a lock on Yaz that it hadn’t occurred to her to anticipate the way her hearts still did that funny synchronized _whump_ they did when she heard that sultry voice.

She had to fish herself out of her own gaping silence, as River waited on the other end with a tentative, “Hello?” One word could finish that sentence, and she forced herself not to say it.

“Professor Song, hi!” Thank goodness this voice was okay at pretending, and that she hadn’t videoed in. The Doctor smoothed her hair involuntarily. “You won’t have met me yet, but I’m in a touch of a rush, friend in need—”

“Doctor,” said River smoothly and the Doctor’s hearts did that funny whump again before settling back into their respective rhythms. Really not good to have those kinds of palpitations at her age…

“Yeah?” she heard herself say. Was the air in the TARDIS getting thinner?

“It’s Doctor,” explained River. She could hear that smile in River’s voice, probably lined with lipstick. “Doctor River Song. Been over a year since I graduated.” The Doctor could picture her twirling the cord of the phone on her finger, if it had a cord.

“Right, Doctor Song, congratulations,” said the Doctor. An awkward pause followed. She had _really_ not prepared for this.

“Was there… something I could help you with?” asked River, her voice arcing upward to form the question.

The Doctor shook her head. _Yaz. She can help find Yaz._ She cleared her throat. “I’ve kept up with your work over the years, really brilliant stuff—”

“Oh, a fan? Don’t think I’ve had a fan before… Well. Suppose I have.”

“You could say I’m a fan,” said the Doctor, feeling a blush creep into her neck; River was definitely smiling on the other end. Always the tricky part, treading that line between piquing her interest and not giving too much away. Spoilers. Always the spoilers. “I was wondering, though,” she continued, and she chewed her lip. “Ever done any studies on ancient Benorian history?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” said River. The Doctor could picture the flare in River’s eyes and she beamed. _Yaz,_ nagged the voice at the back of her head as River carried on, “I had just done an expedition to Benore, though we hadn’t got around to an actual dig when…” River stopped short. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t,” said the Doctor. She chewed her lower lip. Had she secured her number when she called? Her gaze traveled to the sonic in her fist.

“Mysterious stranger gives a call and asks about my latest work. I’d suspect I’ve met you, though I have no recollection of your voice.”

“We might have done,” said the Doctor. “Or might yet.”

“Spoilers.” There it was, the familiar coy cadence in a single word, though there was no note of recognition; River sometimes simply liked saying it.

“Right!” said the Doctor. “Wouldn’t want to spoil anything good to come, would I? But about Benore…”

“Ah. You mentioned a friend in need?”

“Yes!” She snapped out of her enamored haze, grateful for the procession of business to distract her from imagining what River must be doing at this desk, how her face portrayed emotion with the stretch of lipstick and clever warmth in her eyes. “My friends and I were visiting Benore for a lunch picnic, the surface seemed okay, but then…” The Doctor breezed through her tale, holding the sonic up to her eyes every few seconds, Yaz’s energy signature flickering even fainter. “…and I thought I’d take them back to the TAR… my ship, take them home, but I came back and locked onto Yaz’s energy signature deep underground, but there’s a void barrier or something. And I knew—heard that you’d done some research on Benore through a… friend of a friend and thought I’d give you a ring.”

“Which brings us to now.”

“Exactly! This is why you’re a doctor, Riv—Doctor Song.”

Oh, how she wanted to whisk away the curtain, step out into the light to picture the look on River’s face when she said “Hello, sweetie,” but she pressed her tongue between her teeth instead. There was no time, not for Yaz. She’d say River’s name aloud another time, just to get the texture of it again on this new tongue, feel it depart these lips, a loose spider’s thread on the wind of her breath.

“I should know you, shouldn’t I?”

“Depends,” said the Doctor.

“I’ll ask again,” said River, softer this time. “Do I know you? Have we met?”

The Doctor hesitated. “Here and there,” she said finally. “Look, I really need to get going—”

“Your friend.” River’s voice cut in with a fray of static. “We lost someone on our failed expedition. I can’t prove it, but someone went missing the same way on Benore. Like he’d drained through the fabric of the universe. Evaporated. He doesn’t exist anymore. His _children_ don’t exist anymore.” The Doctor’s breath hitched. “The people he met don’t know about him. I had to stop asking around, they’d have put me away.”

“Know him well, did you?” asked the Doctor, her throat drying.

“Intimately. Research partners for years.”

The Doctor ignored the slight spike of jealousy and focused instead on Yaz, on getting her back. Of _course_ there was room in her hearts for both Yaz and River, and River would have her dalliances, anyway. It’s why she had two hearts. More love to go around, said Granny Five when she’d asked one extra late bedtime…

“But if you’re intent on searching for this Yaz,” continued River, “You might have to accept she’s already gone.”

“I won’t,” said the Doctor.

“Whatever it is down there, it’ll erase you too. That’s a safe bet on a dangerous endeavor.”

“I can’t give up on her, can’t give up on Yaz! I told her we can’t have a universe without her, and I intend to make good on that.” The Doctor drew a shaky breath. “Seems the universe likes to mock me.”

“Well acquainted with the universe, are you?”

“You could say that.”

There was a longer pause. Then—

“Hello, sweetie,” breathed River, disbelieving. The phrase swirled in the Doctor’s ear, a gentle reminder that at least one person in the universe _knew_ her—at least as much as another being could. Had she realized how much she had missed this feeling? The comfort or familiarity and recognition, almost like returning home, with that spark of excitement: River had figured her out. Of course she had. Because after all this time, or even if it was just a little time on her end, River still loved her, still knew her, still waited to see her again. A new thrill coursed through her, something like panic, and she thought she felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, her insides soaring. Whatever it was, she didn’t enjoy feeling so disarmed. Best to end it quickly.

“Anyway, thanks, River, bye!” Tearing herself away, the Doctor hung up.

She busied herself packing a rucksack of supplies, while the TARDIS chided her.

“I know it was rude to hang up so fast, but what was I gonna say? She must have hundreds of questions and Yaz doesn’t have time for me to answer them all!” But the Doctor still had to remind herself sternly that she could have all the time in the universe with River, if she liked. After a fashion. A good amount, at least. Yaz was _ephemeral;_ all her human companions were fleeting like that, Yaz even more so since River confirmed something was erasing her. River could wait; Yaz couldn’t. Refocused, the Doctor shoved a tin of custard creams into the pack, along with several lengths of coiled rope, heavy duty eye bolts, a pair of climbing gloves and other necessities which had once belonged to Sir Edmund Hillary, two climbing axes, a variety of sandwiches, most of them with fried eggs, a canister for water, a thermos of tea, matches, an oil lantern, and a laser pointer. The TARDIS beeped.

Erased _, from the_ universe _, Doctor, is that worth the risk?_

“For my fam? For Yaz? Any day.” She stuffed in a climbing harness, a tangle of red and beige straps at the top of the pack.

The TARDIS trilled low. _You always have to be the hero, don’t you?_

“We’re just travelers, you and I. Help where it’s needed. You know that.”

_The universe needs you. Say you get caught and—_

“Whatever you say, you can’t convince me otherwise. I’m not losing anyone else. Don’t fret. Can’t lose myself,” said the Doctor, tucking a rubber duck into a side pocket usually reserved for water bottles. “Even if no one else remembers her, even if _you_ can’t, she’s still a part of this fam. We’ll get her back.” A plum nestled beside the duck, and she strapped a helmet to the pack. “Besides, I’ve— _we’ve_ faced worse. You know we have.”

Still, the TARDIS cast a warning hum after her as she set foot outside, like a protective mother telling her child to be safe.

“I’ll be fine,” said the Doctor, locking the door behind her. “Most likely.” The climbing axes clanked together as she moved. She gave the TARDIS door one final, fond pat as she pressed her forehead against it. “Hold the fort for me, love? Back as quick as I can,” she murmured.

Eyes and sonic pointed to the ground, she tramped down the hill through the tall grass, muttering to herself. “Said she was headed back to the TARDIS, can’t have got too far from here…” The sonic whirred. A cool evening breeze kicked up, ruffling her hair as it made her coat flap about her shins. Something rustled under her boot that wasn’t grass, and she stepped back. Before it could fly away, she snatched the bit of paper, recognizing the smudged charcoal drawing of the Benorian lily she’d done earlier. “Yaz,” she murmured, curling her fingertips around the paper’s edge. It had been a laugh, sort of, the sketch. Something nice and picnick-y to keep her hands busy while the planet turned quietly under them. And Yaz had wanted to protect it, to preserve the little piece, probably on her nightstand. The Doctor felt so stupid; if she had just been able to keep _still_ , or even find something else to do, weave a daisy chain (hang her tongue turning green), or juggle teacups, Yaz would still be close by, safe. Or even if she’d let the drawing go into the wind, if she hadn’t given it to Yaz… Her hand shook with the effort of not crushing the sketch, and she glared into it as though it held the answers she sought. _Mustn’t torture yourself about that, Doctor,_ she thought. _You couldn’t have known._

Just in case it might have some clue, though, she scanned it. There was the tiny heartbeat of Yaz’s energy signature, somehow still aflutter and hanging onto her sooty thumbprint, though it’d been hours. And there were the carbon readings for the charcoal dust, accurately displaying that she’d picked up the stick in an art classroom at the university on a nighttime stroll, one of those mass-produced supplies from an art shop on Earth. She waved the sonic at the ground again, growling with frustration when Yaz’s energy signature didn’t appear.

The screwdriver blipped anew, and the Doctor glared at it again. Her expression immediately softened, then the lines on her forehead creased deeper in determination. She adjusted her scan to track the faint trail of charcoal residue that stuck to the grass and, little by little, darting to and fro along the zigzagging patches where the paper had tumbled on the wind and come to rest, she found the place where it first hit the ground. She dashed toward it and, nearly falling headfirst, she waved her arms to catch her balance as she stumbled backward; her foot had dipped into the gaping space of a well-hidden hole, big enough for a person to fall through. Taking a breath to steady herself, the Doctor leaned over the edge to peer down into the blackness, sonic alight.

The little beam of amber was only going to go so far, but still the blackness swallowed it whole a few feet down. Another blip, but the sonic failed to determine depth: instead, the same void reading from earlier appeared, a great nothingness beneath her feet. Jumping would not be advisable with that indeterminate length of tunnel stretching ever down, so instead she drilled the eye bolts deep into the ground, finding purchase in a well-anchored rock. They seemed to twirl at impossible speed on their own, prompted by the whine of the sonic. She donned harness and gear, strapping on the helmet and pulling on the gloves last. Next, she threaded the bolts with rope, looping and twisting secure knots she’d learned on the planet Snick. Clever ropemakers, the Snicketians made some of the strongest in their galaxy out of harvested and woven spider thread. Made excellent bootlaces as well. Always good to have on hand, she thought, examining her work, the clips and carabiners and intricate twining ropes threaded through them. One more check to her knots, all the trappings and rigging in place.

“Nothing for it, then,” said the Doctor, and she lowered herself into the dark, bit by bit. Every few downward steps, she tightened her grip to rest her boots against the wall, scanning the status of the rope above her, the knots and rig still secure every time. Depth still indeterminate below in the doldrums of her slow climb down. To keep her mind occupied, she thought of Yaz, of laughing over tea with her, the details and placement of her face when she laughed, the number of eyelashes she’d had when the Doctor last saw her. The gentle way she insisted on returning Dan’s necklace to his daughter after Kerb!am. The universe needed that gentleness. _She_ needed that gentleness. _Hold on, Yaz,_ she thought, and doubled her speed.

Down she rappelled, little hop after tentative step in the dark for what seemed like a longer time than gravity should have allowed. The walls of the hole transitioned from densely packed clay and dirt to damp rock, and she slowed her descent more, wary of the silt and slip. Looking up, she could see a smattering of stars encircled by the mouth of the cavern, but even they vanished as she descended for what felt like an age. Her eyes adjusted slowly as the dark somehow grew vaster and more fathomless around her, and for a time, the only things that seemed real were the rope in her hands and the wall against her feet, her tongue poked out of one corner of her mouth, blisters forming on her palms.

But at long last, her boots hit the flat ground at the bottom, and she unhooked herself from the rig, realizing she’d been holding her breath for the last several meters as she exhaled. Matches were probably a silly thing to bring, she thought, waving the sonic at her lantern, which flickered to life. Delving into her pack for a swig of tea and a sandwich, she congratulated herself on not falling and splattering the floor of a rather impressive cave, which dripped in greeting.

“Proper chuffed with you, Doctor,” she said with her mouth full of egg and toast, “Haven’t had the occasion to rappel in four hundred years or so? Still got it.” As she chewed, she turned on the spot, scanning for a path forward in the cold air. The void signature pulsed strongest to her left, and, shoving the last bit of crust into her mouth, she resolved to take that path, which sloped down with the rounded edges of weathered stairs. She clipped the lantern to her pack, smoothed her coat, and stepped forward, feeling her way along the wall with her left hand, sonic leading with her right. The lantern cast shadows across the far wall of the cave, young stalactites hanging like great, wet fangs in her warped silhouette. The climbing axes clinked together and echoed along the lumpy walls, which had grown in over the centuries, though some intricate designs peeked here and there under the growth of rock.

Then her foot slipped.

As though on a terrifying slide, yelling, she skidded and bumped down the memory of stairs, appended tools and trappings banging against the stone. Her calf gashed open against a sharp rock’s edge. The lantern light snuffed, and in the dark, still gripping her sonic for dear life, the Doctor clawed and scrambled for purchase, the blisters on her hands tearing. A lucky grab halted her progress toward the unknown in the black: her savior in a thick stalagmite. Gasping, her elbow slung around the base of it, she shuffled her feet under her so she could sit on the lump of stair.

“Always love a stalagmite,” she panted. Gingerly, she patted her pack until she found the lantern still clipped to the top. Somehow, no broken glass or leaks, though the bottom was a bit dented. She reignited it with another flare of the sonic, finding an odd comfort in the familiar sound. Her leg bled freely, though it didn’t appear too deep, and she mopped the wound with her sleeve. A pair of butterfly bandages in her pockets would have to do to keep it closed. Even sitting, her knees shook, and she struggled to catch her breath, her hearts pounding. Damn her oversized pancreas and extra adrenaline: the comedown from spikes like this always took precious time.

“Take a moment,” she encouraged herself. “You’re here, Yaz is here somewhere. We’re close, I can feel it.” Forcing her breath slower, she counted the facts she knew about stalagmites, hugging hers tight, her shirt growing damp against it: mineral deposits, typically calcium and similar, formed from the dripping cave ceilings, often merging with a sister stalactite. Touching cave formations was at best inadvisable, given that dirt and oils on skin could affect the color and growth. “Sorry,” she said to her stalagmite. “And thanks.” She stood, angling her head to stretch her neck, taking stock of the bruises and jammed joints she was sure to feel in a minute.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled in a light breeze, though she couldn’t hear the flap and flutter of bats. Maybe there was another entry elsewhere on the surface. The Doctor frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen any spiders or pale cave centipedes or blind crickets. Still, there was something nearby; she could sense it with the way her skin crawled. The sonic turned up nothingness, that void, once again, no signs of life but herself. She could hear water running nearby, the loud crash and gush of an underground river.

An oil-smooth voice cut into the frenetic space of her consciousness: “So she was right. You have come.”

“Who are you?” The Doctor gripped the sonic tighter, if that was possible.

“Someone greater and far older than you, little Doctor,” said the voice.

“I highly doubt that,” she said. Her stomach turned nastily as she felt a mental probe tickle her mind. She did her best to imagine vast walls of tungsten slamming into place against the feeler, and she felt it recoil. “Been around a while, mate. Met plenty of people greater than you all over.”

“Touchy, touchy. But I suppose I needn’t worry. We’ll meet in person soon enough.”

“What’ve you done with Yaz?” She hated that her knees still shook as she jerked around, looking for the source of the voice.

He seemed to chuckle. “You’ll be reunited in time. She was so sure you’d turn up and save the day, like she’s seen you do a thousand times. So I thought I’d have a little wager. The payout was better than I could have possibly dreamed.”

“Yeah? I thought you were supposed to be older and greater than me. Seems I could dream a lot more than you, wide awake,” she said.

“I kept your bond with her intact,” he said simply. “Left the smallest breadcrumbs knowing you couldn’t possibly resist tracking her down. _Can’t have a universe with no Yaz,”_ he mocked, taking on her voice.

“Well, here I am, as promised,” snarled the Doctor.

“Yes, here you are. Do hurry up, Doctor. I haven’t had a feast since I stumbled upon the Benorians so long ago. And you’ve brought someone with you of nearly equal value.” The voice receded somewhat.

“Who? What d’you mean?”

The voice faded in infuriating decrescendo, but whispered, “Spoilers.”


End file.
